Risqué
by gold-hatted
Summary: He is an assassin, and she is the target.


_Baby doll, I recognize  
__You're a hideous thing inside_

— TV on the Radio

.

.

**Risqué**

.

.

_France, 1889_

_Les Ombres_ is a prestigious and aesthetic restaurant—its etiquette and charm is the most finest in the city. Located on the top floor of the Qui Branly Museum, the restaurant displays a beautiful view of the Eiffel Tower, along with the crowd of people and various machinery that scatter below.

At this time, millions from around the world gather at the Universal Exposition, a celebration dedicated to the newest technology and scientific discoveries. Such festivities could be held at no other than Paris, the center of world culture.

Sitting at a table for two, Orihime Inoue smiles as she gazes through the large window, eyeing the mesmerizing scene. Her red-tinted lips slowly part, allowing a sigh to escape her mouth, before she reverts her golden brown eyes into the restaurant, observing the vibrant people around her.

It is Orihime's first time traveling outside of Japan—just in time to experience the remarkable and prominent event. She was more than blessed when her boss had given her the opportunity to give a report on the Universal Exposition. As Japan's most acknowledged investigator, Orihime is determined to give him an outstanding story.

"Bon appétit, Mademoiselle," the waiter announces, causing Orihime to squeak due to his sudden presence. Carefully, the man places the silver platter in front of her, along with a glass filled of crimson wine, before bowing and leaving to serve another table.

As she watches the waiter depart, Orihime carefully picks up the glass of wine and slowly brings it to her lips. The scent is strong, causing Orihime's nose to rumple and scrunch up. Even so, she allows the crisp, red liquid to slip into her mouth and manages to swallow the enduring beverage. Once she finishes, Orihime glances at the glass before tilting her head, swishing the remaining contents in it.

_Hmm. Not bad._

To her delight, she engulfs the rest of her drink within seconds. As she does, something outside of the large window quickly grasps her attention.

_Orange_.

The bright, daring color is quick to spot within the crowd Orihime had previously observed. Her curious eyes linger at the mysterious object for a moment, allowing her mind to think of various things it might have been. It is not until the crowd disperses when Orihime realizes that the strange color belonged to a person's head—a _handsome_ person's head, at that.

Spiky, fiery locks of hair fall over dark, amber eyes. A scowl lurk on thin lips, one feature Orihime finds highly attractive.

Sadly, Orihime feels a sudden, slight tug in her chest when she finds the unknown man talking to a short, raven-haired woman. Small talk is exchanged between the two—along with secretive giggles and whispers—causing Orihime's heart to sink and envy to consume her.

As the conversation ends, the man says his farewell before departing towards a nearby trolley. Orihime is instantly shot with disappointment, yet the uneasy feeling subsides when she notices her waiter returning to the table with the bill.

"Voilà," the waiter holds the bill out, and Orihime accepts it in her soft, tiny hands. She nods in approval before placing it on the table, next to her untouched food she would soon devour. The waiter begins to leave once more, but Orihime is quick to hold his attention.

"Excusez-moi!" Orihime calls out to the waiter in her best French accent, yet her Japanese still lingers in the words. The waiter turns towards her instantly, anticipating for her command. Upon his attention, Orihime clears her throat before continuing, "Where is Montmartre?" With Orihime's French being limited, it is nearly impossible for her to not be straightforward.

The waiter is hesitant at first at her request, but he eventually gives in to offering the young woman easy-to-comprehend directions, seeing she is a novice to the country's language. Orihime quickly writes the directions down in a notepad with an ink pen Onii-san had given to her as a birthday gift.

After Orihime finishes, she happily thanks the waiter and dismisses him from the table. But as the waiter walks away, he immediately stops in his tracks. He turns his head slightly, yet he does not look her in the eyes, before whispering under his breath a warning,

"Be careful."

.

.

"Our reporters tell us that our killer is lurking the streets of Paris.  
We need you, Inoue-san, to investigate the scene."

.

.

A horse carriage carries Orihime down the dark, cobblestone streets; this is the beginning of her hunt for the killer. She can not help but worry about the task she has set out for herself. Chills race down her spine when she thinks of what the possible outcomes of this gloomy night will bring.

Through intuition, a little information, and a lack of self-restraint, Orihime has managed to follow the man and his gruesome deeds from Japan to Montmartre, a notorious hillside overlooking Paris, where men and women lose their innocence.

Soon, the carriage reaches its destination and slows down to a complete stop. Reluctantly, Orihime hops off the carriage, holding her hat so it will not blow away, before glancing at the street sign for reassurance. When the sign reads, 'Montmartre,' Orihime reaches for her coin purse and grabs a couple of francs to hand to the cabby.

The cabby nods in return, "Good hunting, Mademoiselle."

Orihime smiles at his remark. He presumes her to be a prostitute.

_Good._

Since the killer's preference for victims are mainly prostitutes and disreputable men, she has dressed the part, wearing a black dress that plunges at the neck, with the hemline six inches above her bare ankles. She is also wearing a French beret and has a Chinese fan to hide her face and keep her identity unknown. The cabby's remark boosts her confidence, but as the carriage departs and heads down the barren streets, Orihime finds herself praying for her nerves to hold.

The streets are filthy, filled with misery and dreariness. The gas lights are dimly lit, casting ghoulish-like shadows on the damp, putrid streets. No people are in site—to her eyes, at least.

Orihime nervously clutches onto the hem of her dress before biting her plump, bottom lip; she slowly begins walking down the street, patiently scouting for her prey. She makes sure she is quiet so she would not disturb whatever may lurk in the darkness. One step, then another, then another—nothing is happening. She decides to pick up the pace.

Clack!

Instantly, Orihime stops in her tracks before snapping her head behind her, only to find nothing but darkness. Slowly, Orihime turns her head back around, and there, right before her eyes, stands a dark figure across the street.

The figure wears a dark suit; a hat sits on his head to mask majority of his face. He turns to look directly at Orihime, revealing a sharp, masculine jaw and a cold, hard scowl (she could not put a finger where she has seen such a familiar face before). Orihime quickly hides her face with the fan and acts as if she is paying attention to a nearby window that displays antiques and trinkets. The man in black turns and walks in the opposite direction, heading for the celebration at the square.

Orihime has been in this scenario once before, and he is possibly luring her somewhere. Either way, she follows him from a distance.

Beyond him, vendors and inventions line the square which is filled with merrymakers. Happy shouts, bright lights, sparkling laughter, and people in strange costumes greet Orihime as she enters. Orihime is delighted to see so many fascinating things, particularly the food. Orihime gazes at a nearby seafood vendor; her mouth waters as the scent of fried fish slips through her nose. She is enticed by the delicious and blissful aroma.

Suddenly, Orihime vigorously shakes her head, removing the unnecessary thoughts from her mind in order to focus on the task at hand. She shifts her eyes in every direction, searching for the mysterious man. When Orihime finds him, she tries to get a better look at the man through the maze of merrymakers.

Stepping back to avoid a collision with a very tall, thin man walking on stilts, Orihime bumps into someone, resulting for her fan to be knocked out of her hand. As the redhead bends over to pick it up, something brushes against her bum. She squeaks before grabbing her behind, hoping it is the little blue men messing with her again. She looks over her shoulder to find a British man smirking at her, causing Orihime's breathing to suddenly hitch. She has let her guard down, completely forgetting that she is in disguise as a prostitute.

It is no wonder why so many people are staring at her in such a manner.

The man scans over Orihime, making her feel a bit uncomfortable. He whistles before slurring under his lips," How 'bout a round? Five francs."

Quickly, Orihime brings the Chinese fan towards her face. This time, it is not to hide her identity, but to fan away the revolting scent of rum that emanates from the man's lips. Shaking her head, she murmurs, "N-No, thank you." Her English is better than her French, considering how she is more experienced with the language.

The man frowns at her denial and roughly grabs her arm. Orihime yelps in pain, trying her best to yank the limb from his grip. "Come on, darling," the British man whispers into her ear, "I'll be good to you." Orihime glares at the man in disgust. She could not believe he had the audacity to speak such words to her—intoxicated or not.

Orihime tries to get away from his grip once more. When he does not bulge, and his grip becomes tighter, she decides to take matters into her own hands. In seconds, Orihime grabs a bottle (inside is a mixture of hot peppers and horse urine) from the pocket of her dress and splashes the liquid into his eyes. Immediately, the man releases her arm and vigorously rubs his eyes, trying to assuage the pain.

"Slut!"

Orihime is not a professional when it comes to the English language, but even she knows that he has called her an obscene name. Nevertheless, Orihime escapes from the man and runs through the crowd. She stops and catches her breath when the drunken man is no longer behind her.

Luckily, the man Orihime was looking for is standing on the outskirts of the celebration, near what seems to be a library. The man carefully scans the perimeter, as if he is looking for someone—or rather, making sure no one is looking at _him_. Avoiding eye contact, Orihime pretends to be interested in a nearby vendor that sells macaroons. In the corner of her eyes, Orihime sees him sneak into the entrance of the library.

After a few minutes, Orihime follows behind. She peeks through the window of the front door to find no one there. Carefully, she opens the door and closes it behind her, making sure to not make a sound. Once the door is closed, she hears two people talking in a distance, as if it is coming from the back of the library. Orihime quietly follows the voices, only to find out that it is coming from outside on the library patio. Orihime hides between two statues near the entrance so she can clearly hear the voices. Orihime's presumption of the man in the dark suit being the killer is correct, for she hears him and another person speaking in Japanese.

"Did you see _him_?"

"Gustave Eiffel? Yes. It seems wherever he goes, women swarm around him. It'll be impossible to get him without being caught."

Orihime gasps. From prostitutes to disreputable men, Orihime would have never expected for the killer to try and assassinate_ the_ designer of the Eiffel Tower. On top of that, the killer is working with someone else, who is possibly helping him take innocent lives. Orihime realizes that she is going to need backup, that she could not possibly do this task alone. Slowly, Orihime walks away from the patio entrance, yet trips on the statue behind her which causes it to fall, taking her with it.

CLASH!

The two men turn around, finding Orihime stumbling over the broken statue. Her black dress is completely disheveled, as well as her beret and fan.

This is definitely not her best move.

To make matters worse, Orihime does not recognize neither of the two men—one is wearing a vest and the other a trench coat. Startled, Orihime quickly jumps to her feet in order to make a run out of the library. Before she has a chance to do so, a pair of muscular arms wrap around her waist, making her immobile and vulnerable to the group. Orihime grunts in frustration, trying her best to break free. She looks over her shoulder to see who the arms belong to, and her eyes widen in disbelief.

It is the man with the orange hair.

.

.

* * *

**A/N:**

First story on this account, whoop-de-doo~

So, I'm planning for this story to be seven chapters long, but each chapter will be pretty lengthy. Also, this story features a lemon scene in the future chapters, just so you know. Violence and coarse language should also be noted.

Review, please. I would love to know what you guys think.

— Ashley


End file.
